


Rare Nights

by Letterblade



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5641237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade/pseuds/Letterblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaeha's late-night contemplations have become rather compromised since he started traveling with these dorks. Which is to say, the number of party members he can daydream about being gangbanged by is increasing at an alarming rate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rare Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even normally write wank fantasies, like I much prefer the real thing, but it really is the most probable way to arrange this gangbang without a _lot_ of setup, and it would result in _such_ a happy Jaeha, so. :D

It’s a rare night that Jaeha’s the last one to bed, what with Yona’s midnight exercise habit and Hak’s midnight stalking habit—and if it were anyone else he’d make assumptions, but, well, they’ve got _something_  stuck in their craws. Or somebody. Possibly a royal somebody. He’s still working on figuring that one out.

Though not tonight. Tonight, ghosting over the tree-tops under a near-full moon, he’s mostly just horny, and they’re a long way from anywhere civilized enough to have a decent brothel. He settles on a thick branch halfway up a very old tree, lounging with his back to the trunk and his right heel dug into the bark to steady himself, and loosens the clasps of his robes as he soaks up the moonlit night, and takes his dick out in a leisurely sort of way, leaning his head back against the tree and letting out a long slow sigh as he rolls his palm around the head.

He doesn’t like perfunctory wanks. Not anymore, not since he was a shitty teenager. It is perhaps never the world’s most beautiful act, but he can put a little love into it regardless.

He closes his eyes, experimentally, and keeps them closed when he doesn’t fall out of the tree, and lets his mind wander.

It always wanders to the same place recently. With really quite embarrassing consistency. He doubts it occurred to Hak that he was taking cock inventory during their visit to the hot springs, but of _course_ he did. And Hak had proved just as handsome in that department as the rest, and it had added a touch of verisimilitude to his late-night fantasies. Fuck, he wants to feel that cock of his, how firm it would be as it grows it his hands; he wants to taste it, he wants to feel it inside him. Not right away, of course. Hak’s strong, callused fingers opening him up, and tonight his imagination makes that fast, brutal, Hak’s free hand crushing him down by the back of the neck as he moans into the dirt and grinds back against him…

Jaeha lets out a faint _haaah_ , and digs his nails in just under the head of his cock, and feels his blood heat. Shisen really had fucked him up, hadn’t it? He knows this feeling, deep in his gut, the desperate need to get fucked up all over again, be used until he couldn’t walk and love every second of it, blow all that crackling fear out of his system and turn it into joy…oh, this is going to eat at him, he knows. If he was in Awa, he knew a few ladies who could leave him senseless, but they’re in the middle of nowhere, and he wants Hak. _Fuck_ , does he want Hak. That low, ferocious growl in his ear as he slides home, that fearsomely strong arm crushing him against his chest from behind, and just being impaled wrenches a raw groan from Jaeha’s throat, makes his belly twist, never mind when Hak starts fucking him…

He makes it silent, choking his noises back in his throat as his hand tightens on his cock. He should be far, far out of earshot, but there’s no telling where the night wind would carry his voice or what twitchy children would wake to it. Paranoid, perhaps, but there’s no being out of _eyeshot_ , after all. Virgin eyeshot.

His mind supplies a different hand on his cock, small and cool and insistent, with an archer’s callus all down her forefinger, and Jaeha grits his teeth a little and bows his head. _She_ is becoming nearly as inevitable as Hak, and it’s ruinous. Utterly ruinous. Especially since he’s been wondering what kind of woman she’d blossom into if she tended that flame in her eyes, that fierceness. Struggling and diving forward, demanding, until she’s wrapping herself around him, pinning him between them, kissing him hungrily with that sharp little smile of hers, and helping herself to what Hak has been cruelly ignoring, sliding down to the root of his cock in one easy motion…

Jaeha slowly peels his hand off his dick, sucks his fingers deep into his throat, replaces it. It’s nothing next to the heat of her, that could squeeze so tight and slick around him, but it’ll have to do. He would fit between them quite nicely, wouldn’t he? Hak fucking his lady with Jaeha’s body, each brutal stroke making her moan against his throat, dig her teeth in as waves of pleasure rolled through her. It’s not pretty princess business at all, is it? Hak holding him tight with one arm wrenched up behind his back, and he’s naked and helpless under her gaze, and she can see every inch of his surrender and every twitch of his pleasure, and shouldn’t this frighten him more?

_Just fuck me up._

Jaeha feels his cock twitch in his hand, and forces himself to stroke slowly. They’d have to drag it out. Bring him close to the edge and keep him there until he screams and writhes and—begs, he’d beg for them, fuck. Wouldn’t do to leave Yona unsatisfied. Jaeha trusts himself to the tree branch and his leg, lets his other leg fall open a little, slides his other hand down to grab his own balls. Delicious pain, holding himself back. Who’d think to do this? Would Yona, small hand unyielding as Hak bites the nape of his neck, as Hak shakes Jaeha to the toes with savage force? Fuck, he wants more, he wants to be used senseless, until he can’t think, until he can’t struggle, until he can’t even fight the wild pleasure building inside him, somebody’s dick down his throat so he can’t even beg…

Jaeha finds himself letting go of his balls, rather abruptly, to stuff his wrist in his mouth, biting up a mouthful of his sleeves against a whimper. _This_  is new. This is getting _ridiculous_. But it’s so vivid he can’t shake it. Kija’s so pale, the head of his cock would be such a lovely pink, his skin so soft. A low gasp and shudder as Jaeha takes him in his mouth, and that hand settling on his bare shoulder, resting against the side of his throat, reverent, and so careful—five razors grazing his skin, the danger of it crackling like lightning through his body, and he knows how rough dragon scales are, doesn’t he, he knows that well. Kija’s gentle, Kija will probably always be gentle, but there’s steel under it, he knows that now, steel in his tenderness…

Such tenderness can break a man.

Hak thrusts, and drives him forward until Kija’s cock hits the back of his throat, and he groans raw and wrecked around it, and Kija shudders as his self-control frays and scales rasp against the back of his neck, and Yona clenches down with terrible force as she comes, and Jaeha’s a mess, Jaeha’s an utter nerveless mess, they’re the only things holding him up, and he rocks between them like a rag doll as his eyes water from the cock down his throat—and he squeezes his eyes shut and _shakes_  with wretched arousal against the rough bark of the tree, biting his sleeves and feeling like his body is on fire, and he keeps his strokes slow, but it’s inevitable, there’s only so much he can take—

There’s only so much he can take, and he’s beyond even trying to hold back for them, never mind trying to come, it just happens. Building to a tipping point, inexorable, utterly overwhelming. Not that it matters for most, Hak and Kija can finish with him regardless—hell, he loves being fucked right after he’s come, when he’s already been wrecked beyond all resistance. Used until he's utterly worn out, soggy and overstimulated. He hopes Yona is satisfied. She can take a turn on his face when Kija's finished, ride him until he can barely breathe. Such a—such a ridiculous thought, really, to give to a fantasy even as he chokes out one muffled cry and comes into his hand, longer than usual, until the spasms of it turn his human leg to rubber and he’s really quite glad for the tree trunk.

He looks down at himself as he catches his breath, vaguely stunned. It’s a good thing his robes fell open entirely. His trousers are stained—he’d come harder than he could catch in one hand—but he can deal with that quietly enough. He slowly lifts his hand to lick it clean, his own come thick and bitter on his tongue, and wishes it was Kija’s.

As if traveling with these children wasn’t masochism enough already.


End file.
